#i have no idea where the fuck i am or what i’m talking about

[junixscribble]

Grumpy Cat

This is loosely inspired by what I'm dubbing a Worm Original and was meant to be a drabble. It... got out of hand.

Title: Grumpy Cat

WC: 1399w

Summary: Viktor and Jayce haven't looked at the clock in hours - late nights in the lab bring out the best in both of them.

---------

Viktor caught Jayce staring at him out of the corner of his eye. His brow was furrowed slightly and his hands were laced in front of him, almost like a storybook villain.

“Jayce, are you alright?” he asked, turning to him. Jayce tipped his head to the side in curiosity. 

“Have you always been this grabbable?” 

Viktor blanched. “What the fuck?”

“You know. I could sling you over my shoulder and it would be like picking up some grapes.” 

“Now that’s just insulting.” Viktor sputtered and Jayce laughed.

“You’re like the human incarnation of a grumpy cat.” 

Viktor barked out a bewildered laugh at the comparison. “I’m not sure where these are coming from, Jayce. It is- ah, two in the morning. That accounts for some I guess.” 

Jayce wrung his hands together and made a little growl. “I wanna squish you. Pick you up and just-” 

He mimed squeezing into a hug before leaning his head on the desk. “I get cute aggression.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me cute?”

“Yes. Like a sad wet kitten left on the street.” 

“Oh my- I am not a drenched cat!” Viktor protested, half smiling at the absurdity. “If anything it’s you that resembles a kicked puppy most of the time. I can imagine a little tail wagging back and forth along with those puppy eyes of yours. Pathetic, really.” 

Viktor grinned at Jayce’s overtly aghast expression, hand over his chest. “You wound me, Vik!”

“Eh, grumpy cats are mean. I thought you realised that already?” 

Jayce pouted for a second before standing and clapping his hands together. “Well, alright then.”

“What are you doing?” 

“Nothing that you don’t deserve.” 

Viktor suddenly recognised the slightly hungry look in Jayce’s eyes and felt his own widen. The last time Jayce looked like that… well, he wasn’t set free for an hour. 

“Don’t you dare you fiend, I’ve done nothing that you haven’t already.” he stood and backed away, cane held out in self defence. 

“Mmm, maybe, but I’m bored and we’ve been here for hours. Sooooo…” Jayce smiled and shrugged. “What’s the harm?”

“What’s the- you know the harm! I’m not putting up with being manhandled!”

“Are you worried it’s gonna tickle too much?”

He stiffened at the mention of the word and felt his cheeks flush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah you do. Come on, it’ll be fun!” Jayce wiggled his fingers and Viktor recoiled.

“For you, maybe! Not for the person subjected to that torture!” Viktor spat.

“I distinctly remember you never once telling me to stop last time.” Jayce teased with an evil grin, and Viktor short circuited. Instead of using words, he just stuck his tongue out and made the stupidest face he could while aiming a middle finger at Jayce.

“Suck on that.” 

“Ohoho, that’s it!” 

Jayce lunged at Viktor and he expertly sidestepped, jabbing his side with his cane before grabbing a chair and stacking it on Jayce. He took another and put it over his legs before shuffling back and holding a third in front of him - he knew running wasn’t going to work, so slowing Jayce’s offence was his best bet. 

As badly thought out as it was, Jayce did actually struggle for a minute with the chairs before tossing them aside.

“Really Viktor?” 

Viktor threateningly held the chair in front of him up, and Jayce leaned down into a rugby player’s stance. He ran forward and grabbed the chair, throwing it to the side and grabbing Viktor around the waist and hauling him over his shoulders. Just as Viktor planned. 

The minute he was upside down Viktor mercilessly dug his hands into Jayce’s sides from the back, making him jump and laugh. 

“What, I thought you liked tickling?” Viktor teased, ignoring the blood rushing to his head. 

“Cuhuhut it ohohout! Ihim gonna drohop you!”

“No you won’t.” Viktor assured, and he believed it. He pushed one of his hands under Jayce’s shirt onto his stomach and he folded like a lawn chair, falling to his knees. 

“VIHIK!” Jayce cackled, keeling to the side under him. With his feet on the ground Viktor readjusted himself so he could tickle properly, sticking his other hand under his shirt and really squishing the soft flesh of his stomach. Jayce arched his back and shrieked, squirming around on the floor.

“Yohou little shihihihit! Ihi’m gonna get yohohou!”

“You can certainly try- whoa!”

Viktor was interrupted when Jayce gained the willpower to sit up and scoop him up. Expecting him to try and push him away, Viktor was caught completely off guard and yelped as he was pulled close with his arms pinned to his sides. He started kicking and wriggling as Jayce stood up, picking him up off the floor. Hands halfheartedly wiggled at Jayce’s sides, but all it got was a breathless chuckle from him. 

“Oh, no you don’t. That’s not gonna work again.”

“Come on, Jayce! Look at me, I can’t run away! You wouldn’t attack a helpless man, would you?” Viktor bluffed, playing it up.

“Nope.” Jayce huffed, turning Viktor around so his back was to his chest and hoisting him higher. “If anything you’ve just proved exactly how capable you are. So don’t expect mercy from me.”

Viktor jerked when felt a hand on his ribcage and another on his side, both preparing to tickle him. He had about half a second to ramble out some nonsense before those hands dug in, tearing peals of laughter from him. Jayce had immediately started counting between Viktor’s ribs, and by Janna it was killing him. 

“Nononohohoho! I swehehear I’ll hide ahall of yohour erasers!” 

“Well I had better make this worth it then.” 

He kicked out when the hand on his side kneaded into his hip, cackling. “Bahahastard! Mahay ahahall your equations behehe off by ohohone decimal point- AH!”

Jayce yanked his shirt up and started a hand skittering over his stomach, making him throw his head back in mirth.

“Jahayce!”

“What?” 

“Dohon’t!”

Jayce saw an evil opportunity and took it. “Don’t what?” 

“Tickle me!” 

Viktor fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Well if you insist!” 

Jayce lifted him higher and sent the hand on his ribs under his shirt, pulling it up so his side was completely exposed. Viktor tensed in trepidation, sensing that whatever Jayce was about to do was going to tickle bad.

And, well. He was right. 

Jayce pressed his lips to Viktor’s side and blew a huge raspberry into his skin before continuing in a trail up his ribs. When he got to the first, lowest rib Jayce gave it a little nibble before blowing a raspberry and proceeded to do this for every single rib. Viktor shrieked at the first one and continued to kick and scream the whole time Jayce worked up his ribs, yelling and swearing hysterically. 

“AAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!” 

“Not where? Here?” Jayce nuzzled into his side, nibbling at one of his ribs about halfway up while drilling his fingers into the opposite side. “Why, does it tickle?” 

Viktor went completely limp in his grasp, temporarily losing the will to fight while Jayce attacked what was undeniably the most ticklish spot on his whole body. 

“YEHEHEHES! JahaYCE I cahahHAn’t breheEEHEHEathe!” 

“Alright, I think that's enough of a payback.” 

Jayce stopped tickling and set Viktor down on the ground, laughing when he practically melted onto the floor. He lay there for a minute catching his breath and Jayce sat by his head.

“You’ve killed me. Say goodbye to Hextech, as it dies with me.” Viktor said.

“What do you want on your gravestone? ‘Here lies Viktor, who was too ticklish for his own good’.” 

Jayce got a firm punch on the leg for that one and he giggled when he slid down to join Viktor on the ground. He yawned. 

“It’s probably time to get some rest. We’re sure to be back here in a few hours.” 

“Considering we have both ended up somewhat hysterical, that sounds wise.” Viktor said, removing his arm from his chest and laying it next to Jayce’s. His fingers loosely entwined with his own and he felt a surge of affection before Jayce was pulling him up with a firm grasp on his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home.” Jayce offered, and how could Viktor refuse.

Their hands held together for a lot longer than necessary. 

[boba-pearl-writes]

1/23/25 - guillotine - word count: 746 - @rosekillermicrofic

Evan groaned into his cup of hot chocolate, rueing the day he decided to go to the club.

He’d gone to the club for two purposes- to have fun and to forget about his ex. Pandora had suggested the idea, but as she had a date night with Lily, she’d declined to go with him. 

Evan had seen a jaw-droppingly handsome man who had said one sentence to him and never looked at him all night, then gotten black out drunk when the man left because, fuck it, he wasn’t going to deal with a crush right this second.

But his mind kept wandering to the guy. He’d had gorgeous black hair with green highlights, sharp cheekbones, a killer fashion sense, tattoos and piercings all over, and-

“Guillotine earrings, Pan! Guillotine earrings!” Evan sighed. “He looked so good. I’m probably never going to see him again.”

And now he was twice as heartbroken and with a horrible hangover.

What an amazing Saturday morning.

“Ev, you don’t know that. I mean, he probably lives in the city and-”

“With my luck? Yeah, right.”

The bell to the front door of the coffee shop rang, signaling that someone was entering. Pandora and Evan didn’t look up, as this was a fairly busy coffee shop. The people quickly ordered their drinks, and chose the table right next to theirs. Evan dropped his head near his hot chocolate, sighing in relief as the steam from the open cup blew into his face.

“Reg, you don’t understand. He was fuckin’ beautiful.” That voice sounded a bit familiar

“I think I understand, Barty. You’ve talked about him for what- five times today? It’s barely ten.”

Evan didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but Pandora had pulled out her phone and was presumably texting Lily, going by the blush on her face. It was adorable how flustered they were around each other, even having dated for a year already.

“If you saw him, you’d understand. He was- Reg, he- oh.”

“What?”

“He’s right there.” 

Now, Evan looked up, surprised, and made eye contact with very familiar eyes. Very familiar blue grey eyes that Evan was pretty sure he could drown in and never want to come out of.

Oh.

Fuck.

That was the guy from the bar. Evan sat there, almost mesmerized, as the guy got up and walked over to him. He plopped down in the chair next to him. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, with a crooked smile.

“Hey, yourself,” Evan breathed out. He heard Pandora stifle a laugh, but he didn’t really care. The guy - Barty - leaned closer to him and spoke again.

“This might be a bit forward, but could I have your number?”

“I don’t mind… yeah.”

“Brilliant.”

After they’d exchanged numbers, Barty got up from the seat, mouthed ‘call me,’ and went back to his own table, where his friend was sitting, looking unimpressed. He turned back to Pandora, still convinced he might’ve been hallucinating. Pandora was looking at him with an amused expression.

“Was I dreaming?”

“All real,” Pandora reassured him.

-x-

“Hey, gorgeous,” Barty whispered, turning to him, as they stood on the beach, hand in hand. Evan grinned and turned to him, taking in his boyfriend and everything he loved about him- his hair that was a bit more outgrown than it was a few years ago, his beautiful gray blue eyes, and, of course, those familiar guillotine earrings.

“Hey, yourself,” he whispered back, and Barty smiled, something soft and full of adoration. Evan’s heart melted.

“This might be a bit forward, but-” Barty dropped to one knee “-Evan Rosier, you are the love of my life. My Rosie, so would you do me the honor and marry me?” Evan was pretty sure he was holding his breath. He looked at the ring, and then again at Barty’s face.

“Yeah. Yes. Yeah, Bee, yes,” he said, pretty sure he was either hallucinating or hysterical.

Barty let out a laugh and stood up to kiss him, then slid the ring onto his finger. The ring was silver, with an emerald right in the center. It was perfect. “Am I dreaming?” He whispered into the night air.

His fiance - fiance! -  laughed again and leaned in for another kiss. Right there, a new ring on his finger, under the sunset, with his favorite person in the world, he didn’t need someone to reassure him that he was, in fact, not dreaming.

It felt beautiful, alive- real.

Perfect.

[kjack89]

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

[thoughtsaboutshows]

Post Onyx Storm fic Drabble

ONYX STORM ENDING SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

I’ve been trying to cope and process Onyx Storm and sometimes writing helps. I don’t know if this will go anywhere as I haven’t been able to write much at all these last few days but I’m excited to see where I could go with it

DO NOT GO BWLOW THE CUT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED FOR ONYX STORM

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

“Imogen, what the fuck happened?” When I look at her the faraway glaze to her eyes slips away as the hardness I usually see returns.

“I can’t tell you.” She snaps, crossing her arms and avoiding my eyes again.

“That’s not an option. Tell me.” I demand and my power crackles. A lightning bolt strikes outside but to her credit, she doesn't falter.

“Don’t ask that of me.” Her eyes narrow. “You have no idea what it’s been like these last few-”

“So fucking tell me. Better yet give me my memories back.”

“Even if I could do that, Sorrengail, I wouldn’t. I can’t.” She remains firm but her face has softened a bit.

“Because of him?” She doesn’t answer me and I scoff, running my hand down my face. When my fucking wedding ring catches on my nose I flinch, suddenly hit with another wave of dread. “Gods for once can your loyalty fall to me? all of you are always doing what he wants, what he says. Why can’t you do something for me?”

“I am doing this for you!” She doesn’t yell, but her rasped and desperate whisper is enough to give me pause. “They will kill you or worse if they think you have information on where they went or what they’re doing. You’re the brilliant one, Sorrengail. Don’t you think that you asked me to take your memories for a reason? Remember that. You asked me to. Riorson was in agreement but it was your idea.”

“Do you know where they are?” I ask both hopeful for answers and terrified of what they might do to her if she does. I glance down at my ring, heart lurching again. “Were you there?” I don’t have to finish for her to know what I’m talking about

“No.” She says, slightly defeated. “If i knew too much I’d have gone with them. But I’m needed here with you, as an ally, one that is loyal to them as you are.”

Right. Because who knows what Brennan or my squad will think now.

“Do you know if he was…” I pause and sniffle back tears. “If he was any bit of him when we did this?” I hold up my hand, the emerald glistening in the magelight.

Xaden had been alluding to marriage for months. I thought he’d been joking most of the time, despite both of us knowing that if we survived all this that’s where we’d end up. I had no idea he’d actually been planning it.

“Do you really think he’d ever let go of his love for you?” Imogen asks me, her voice sweet in a way I’ve never heard. “If there’s any part of him left it’s that. Plus Garrick said.” She pauses and swallows hard, shaking off grief and despair. “Before they left he said that it was as sickeningly sweet as much as it was devastating. I’m sure the two of you spewed the same romantic crap you’ve been saying for over a year.”

[little-lovett]

now then my friend

now to your

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE

[foxgloveinspace]

oh my god you gave permission to send vids and i lasted all of 30 minutes before needing to send something 😂

BUT!!!

iv crying 🥺🥺🥺 the love for iii these last few shows has melted my heart and clearly the bands too

https://x.com/vesseltoken/status/1734391886901616999?s=46

i cannot suffer alone with this one i’m so sorry

Well, as I watch this and suffer. here, sleep token official instagrams account second to last pic…. Our boy AdamRosssi knows what we want, haha.

🥺🥺🥺

Oh no……

[peapod20001]

Anyways before I forget again,

Does anyone else have meanings behind oc color pallets? Both for an individual character and when they’re part of a group??

[yuribalisms]

Lesbian or trans guy…. Lesbian or trans guy… lesbian or trans guy…. That is The question

[seventh-district]

.

[spencereid]

what does it say about me that i have the concept of death and the afterlife down pat but i can’t fucking figure out how the fuck i’m supposed to live beyond basic survival. what does that fucking say about me

[mysterious-corpse]

I think somethings rlly fucking wrong with me

[romantically-yours]

I desire romantically doing makeup with somebody

[lexcys]

★ observing rafe cameron x reader

summary: you were trying everything to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at rafe, unbeknownst to you - he was secretly hoping you were

a/n: this is a surfer!rafe x shy!reader btw!! also this is like pretty much my first ever fanfic so I have no idea what the fuck I am doing so sorry if this is literal ass 😭 no mention of a fem!reader besides the fact that the womans bathroom gets entered

you felt the heat of the sun on your skin as you stepped out of the twinkie. the soft crash of the distant waves barely audible over the hum of the pogues voices

stepping onto the beach, a surge of excitement hits you. the day you and the pogues have been counting down to all week has finally arrived

you take one final glance into your bag, double-checking for anything you might have forgotten—sunscreen, snacks, a book, and a few other trinkets, satisfied you make your way over to your usual spot ready to take off your tshirt and shorts which hid your swim wear underneath, until you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye

rafe cameron

somehow the kooks had managed to pick the exact same date, place and time to visit the beach as you and your friends

while the others were hastly running towards the water stripping on the way down, paying no attention to the kooks, kie stayed back waiting for you

she was already in her bikini while your clothes weren’t even close to leaving your body and landing on the ground

''you coming?'' she asked, hand on her forehead shielding her from the burning sun

''umm'', taking a quick glance around you searched the beach in a, hopefully, unsuspicious way trying to locate rafe again

glancing down you turned your gaze elsewhere, you hoped the sudden heat entering your body was from the sun and not from the sight of rafe taking his shirt off

''I’ll join you guys later, I’m a little dizzy right now'', you spoke swiftly looking up at her, hoping to not get caught in the little white lie

all though kie nodded, the flicker of confusion in her eyes and a quick look behind you told you all you needed to know

you had never verbally stated your attraction to the him but you were pretty sure almost anybody could’ve guessed with the way you tensed up or seemed quieter and clumsier whenever he was in close proximity

taking off your top and shorts you shot a look over to the pogues who were already splashing and practically drowning each other. you giggled while settling down onto your beach towel before applying sunscreen and laying down on your stomach with a book in hand

even though your book was very interesting, the sight in front of you was much more enticing

rafe was currently riding a pretty common wave, yet you found yourself unable to stop staring

you adjusted your book hoping to hide the fact that you were practically ogling at the cameron boy

he was far enough out that you couldn’t make out the details but you still caught the way his hair stuck to his face, the way his body twisted with the rythm of the wave and the way he… kept turning his head towards you?

it seemed like he was looking for you, looking to see if you were watching him

cheeks burning, you try to push your delusions aside trying to find the passage you were reading earlier

you take another peek at him and by the the time you do, he was already out of the water, walking towards his friends with the biggest fucking grin, beaming with pride and confidence, already seeming to rave about the wave he just rode

hearing jj’s laugh you swiftly adjust and pretend to be reading your book that was definitely more interesting than staring at rafe’s wet body and stupid grin

while jj kept whining about how john b, supposedly, almost drowned him they both settled down on your left, luckily on the side where the kooks were lounging

fortunately he also kept talking which meant you were able to peep right past his face and steal short glances towards rafe

it was almost impossible for you to keep your eyes off of him. it didn’t matter where you would see him, you were always stealing glances or simply staring at him from a distance. others could call this stalking but you liked to call it observing, you liked watching him, but not in a creepy way, more so you were admiring him, he was pretty

you liked his side profile, the way his bangs framed his face, the way his eyes looked in the sun, the way his shirts hung onto his fit body - you noticed the way he was very articulate with his hands, which were always adorned with the same two rings, the way the corner of his lips turned downwards whenever he tried not to smile

noticing him facing you, eyeing your group, the staring quickly stopped

at this point the distance between the two groups was too small for your liking because of course the kooks had to settle down as closely as possible to the pogues - it was somehow impossible for them to keep their distance

given the short distance, whenever you actually were brave enough to look again it seemed like he was meeting your gaze, trying to maintain eye contact

heart beating way too fast and cheeks burning, you turn away from jj trying to initiate a conversation with sarah, who was sitting on your right

after a while of, luckily, managing to keep your head from spinning towards him, to meet his gaze - aside from the occasional looks to jj or john b whenever they were contributing to the conversation - you were desperate to get up, to empty your bladder

you dreaded getting up, fully aware that the beach bar was situated just behind the kooks, it meant walking past rafe and the mere thought of that unnerved you - every step would make you acutely aware of your surroundings, mind racing, until the very thought of moving felt like it might turn your legs into jelly

examining the scene quickly you notice half of the kooks gone, including rafe, they must’ve left when you weren’t looking - you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders while also immediately feeling a certain misery overtaking you

this unrequited crush was spiraling out of control

strutting over to the bar you take notice of ruthie with another girl sitting at one of the tables and kelce talking to the bartender seeming to be cracking jokes instead of ordering

walking past them you try to keep your gaze relatively low to avoid any sort of interaction. turning into the small hallway of the bar you exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding

the calmness doesn’t last long because as you round the corner to reach the toilets you spot him, standing in front of the mens bathroom, phone in hand and looking quite bored

before you get the chance to look away he lifts his head and notices you, he smiles - you smile back, a very awkward smile

relatively quickly you turn your head away and enter the women’s bathroom. your head becoming a blur, suddenly already washing your hands ready to leave the bathroom

he must’ve left already, right?

''topper are you fucking coming, man?!'', you catch rafe through the door

your plan of immediately leaving and paying him no mind, began to falter two seconds after stepping out of the bathroom

''hey, y/n'', you hear from behind you, shit

you freeze up for a second, caught off guard, before composing yourself and turning around

immediately drawn to him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hair had dried in quite a messy way, his slightly squinted eyes and the slight smirk splayed across his face

''how are you?'' he questions before you had the chance to greet him back

''I’m doing fine'', you manage to exclaim, nearly tripping over your words before adding the usual ''and you?''

you dig in your mind trying to recall the last time you’d exchanged words beyond the usual "hi" or "hey''

''ditto'',

apparently not completely satisified with your answer, he regards you for a moment, the stare causing a warmth to creep up your neck as you shifted uneasily

''why did your friends leave you all alone over there?'', rafe inquired with a raised brow - a hint of curiosity in his tone, ''they seemed to be enjoying themeselves''

letting out a soft exhale you answer him, attempting to maintain eye contact but faltering almost immediately, ''I wasn’t feeling so good'' was all you manage to muster before adding the word, ''dizzy'' in a rather whispered voice, as you lied through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t see through it

if he did, he didn’t let on ''are you feeling better now?’'

you nod quickly, meeting his gaze

looking up at him with those almost innocent eyes, he can’t help but offer, ''are you sure? I can get you a glass of water'', an unrecognisable sweetness laced his voice, softening his usual edge

taken aback by his unexpected offer you hesitate before denying his offer by simply shaking your head

he let out a quiet snort, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you struggle to give a simple answer

''what book were you reading?'', he asked, his smirk widening as he leaned further back into the wall, clearly amused at the way the conversation was turning into a playful interrogation, as if he found some strange satisfaction in making you squirm just a little bit

you froze, your mind going blank, searching for the title before realising you genuinely couldn’t remember, maybe because you weren’t actually reading the book

like a savior, topper emerged from the bathroom, a flicker of confusion passing across his face as he scanned the scene before moving past you both, muttering a quiet "let’s go," clearly directed at rafe

for a split second, it looked like frustration crossed rafe’s face, fleeting before you could overthink it, flashing you a smile he pushed himself off the wall and made his way past you

but before he completely disappeared out of view, he turned back with a smirk and called over his shoulder,

''hope you enjoyed the show earlier''

oh

[stunie]

i just WOKE UP !!?????!!!!!!

2024.07.15 — dinner date with Ume. ♡

(hands up if you know where the reference photo’s froooommmmm!!!! >:3 aju nice.)

[joelsdagger]

that’s the way road dogs do it || one

joel miller x f!reader

a/n: this one is a little wild; part two is already shaping up to be even more wild. many smooches to my beloveds: @pedrospatch for all the reassurance and support and for beta’ing this bad boy for me, and to @dinandwhiskey for screaming with me about this idea many many moons ago <33

pairing: ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel x f!reader summary: on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past. warnings: [no-outbreak au], big girthy age gap [reader is in her 20’s, joel is 50’s], alcohol consumption, allusions to cheating [not by joel or reader], no sarah or ellie but joel has a son, joel has tattoos and is a biker, pet names [darlin’, baby, kiddo], sexualization of the term kiddo [from the deepest darkest pits of my soul…idfc], a little bit of humiliation, panty sniffing, a teensy bit of fingering, a little manhandling, pervy!joel [he’s also a little fucked up and really unhinged but so am i so whateva], pussy pronouns, dirty talk [umm it gets weird lol], daddy kink, degradation, semi-public sex, rough unprotected p in v sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, dubcon [joel takes pictures of her that she doesn’t verbally consent to], smidgen of angst [ofc bc it’s me], creampie, body marking/writing [use of a pen], soft!joel, reader wears a skirt, has hair, wears makeup, and has two tattoos that are described within the story word count: 8.6k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!

Bad Habits is the bar where you spend every Friday night after work with your friends. It’s always too loud and too bright for your liking. But they serve good booze for a reasonable price and it’s on the way back from your office. Your Friday night usual; stopping at the bar with some friends from work before you bore yourself to sleep by looking over briefings and finalizing notes you need to send over to your boss in time for Monday’s nine am meeting.

You excuse yourself from the booth and head for the bar, plopping yourself on the velvet cushion of a creaky bar stool as you set your purse on the sticky bartop, ordering yourself another drink. Your phone chimes, and you sigh as you pull it out of your purse along with a pen and notepad, knowing it’s an email with a list of requests from your boss. He did tell you he’d send it to you before the end of the night. 

It’s when one of your hands is pressed to your temple, the other scribbling down your boss’ requests on paper when you hear it — a low, gravelly Southern drawl, a voice laced with honey — that you thought you’d never hear again. 

“This seat taken?”

Your pen freezes for a moment; you could pick that voice out of a suspect line-up. It never left you. But you willingly ignore him and decide you’re going to have a little fun of your own with him, so you continue finalizing your thoughts on paper as he situates himself beside you and orders a glass of whiskey while he’s at it. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ sittin’ in a place like this all by herself?” 

“I’m not alone. My friends are over there,” you throw your thumb, pen in hand, over your shoulder, jutting to your booth. “Just needed another drink,” you say, your eyes never leaving the notepad. 

“Why won’t you let me see your face, darlin?” he asks, head tilting to the side, assessing you. 

You snort. “Why. So you can decide whether or not my face is pretty enough to fuck — Mr. Miller?” Your voice drops an octave at the end of the sentence. 

You finally turn your head so you’re face to face with the man beside you, the father of your ex-boyfriend. 

Surprise flashes across his face; his mouth hangs agape briefly before he shuts it tightly. You watch as the Adam’s apple bops slowly in his throat. For once, the father of your shit-eating, cheating ex-boyfriend doesn’t have a comeback. He clears his throat as he attempts to recover. 

“Didn’t realize it was you, darlin’,” he says gruffly, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. 

You chuckle to yourself a little. “Of course you didn’t. The last time we saw each other was what? A year ago? Maybe more?” you quip. 

“You look different,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes glossing over your figure so quick you almost miss it. 

You raise an eyebrow at him; the corner of your mouth kicks up as you tilt the rim of your glass to your lips, hiding your smirk behind a sip.

“Good. I mean — you look good,” he tips his glass on its heel, eyeing it as he toys with it. 

You tilt your head in a shrug, “I needed a change.”

After Joel Miller’s son cheated on you and broke your heart, after you let the hurt linger for a few weeks and told your sob story to your friends who happily listened, you took their advice. 

You need something new, something fresh, babe. 

It really does help.

You’ll feel like a whole new person. 

Trust me, it’ll be good for you. 

You dyed your hair a few times, until you found a shade that felt more you. You got yourself a whole new wardrobe, something a little less fucking prudish and a little more slutty, and despite the cliché of it all, their suggestions did help to leave that shy, agreeable girl in the dust. The breakup was the last push you needed to leave it all behind. 

And now here you are, a little over a year later, sitting beside your ex’s father, whom you once hated to admit to yourself — no, you never really admitted it to yourself, but you found him attractive. Fuck. Who were you kidding? You didn’t just find Joel Miller, the father of your ex-boyfriend, attractive; you found yourself wanting to open your legs for him more than you did for his son, whom you had been dating for eight months. 

His eyes fall to your chest, trailing down the low cut of your top, and fixating on the peaks of your nipples beneath the tight fabric, and your heart stutters. “Quite the change,” a hint of a glint swimming in his hazel eyes. 

You can’t say the same for him.

You take him in now; he looks almost exactly the same, apart from a few more wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Still, he’s somehow more handsome. 

His tousled salt-and-pepper hair still sits messily on his head, though his beard is lined with more silver than you remember. 

Fuck. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes trail down his body, thick shoulders and thick arms deliciously clad in his black leather jacket, and beneath that, his white t-shirt pulls taut across his broad chest.  

 And oh. 

Joel’s head turns, peering over his shoulder at the sound of glass breaking. Your eyes flick back up and catch a curl of black ink on the tanned skin beneath his collar. That’s new. 

When he turns back, he raises the glass to his lips with a scoff, clouding the inside of it, and the dim light from above the bar catches on the square face of a gold band on his marked pinkie finger. That’s also new. Your eyes don’t miss that his fourth finger still remains devoid of a wedding ring. 

“I have your son to thank for that." You drop your phone, pen, and notepad into your purse, giving him your full attention.

A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. Flicks his tongue across his bottom lip before he bites it. Is it a show of anger? Disappointment? You’re not quite sure.

But there is one thing that you are sure of: Joel Miller liked having you around. You knew it. You were aware that his eyes lingered whenever he saw you. You caught it from the very first time. When you showed up at his house, in jeans that clung to you like skin, how you bent at the waist to fish your keys out of his sofa cushion, and in your periphery, caught the subtle tilt of his head to get a better look at how the denim hugged your ass just right, feeling his eyes boring into you, your skin sizzling with heat.

If you’re being honest, you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty or shameful for how Joel looked at you. You basked in how he made you feel; you certainly weren’t getting that kind of attention from his son. He had his eyes (and his dick) on someone else. 

You liked how that very last night you spent at Joel Miller’s house — a fortnight before you broke up with his son — you padded down the hallway to the bathroom in an old skirt that you had outgrown (wearing it only because it was the last of clean bottoms before laundry day), and you overheard Joel Miller in his bedroom, fucking his fist and coming with a gruff groan of your name on his lips.  

You just weren’t sure if he knew that you knew.  

His body twists, props a leg up on the footrest of your bar stool. “What happened between you two? He never talked about it,” he inquires. 

You scoff. “He gets that from you, you know, not talking about things. Think he knows it too.” 

Confusion floods his features. 

Your eyes drop to the inside of your glass. “Your divorce. Jason complained all the time about how neither of you talked about it.”

“There was nothin’ to talk about. She left,” he quips. 

“She cheated on you,” you retort. 

“How did–” 

“He knew, and he watched when you didn’t fight it. Think that’s why he did the same to me.” 

“That kid. Always fucking trouble,” he huffs, then takes a short sip. 

 “Hey, you raised him,” you joke. 

“I didn’t raise him to be a piece of shit,” he bites, shakes his head instantly, eyes meeting yours, and there’s something behind them that you can’t quite place yet.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, I just—" You sigh exasperatedly, “I think seeing how you didn’t fight for your marriage, for your wife, messed with him. And as much as I hate him for getting his dick wet in another girl, I think... well, now I know why he did it." Right shoulder tips in a slight shrug. 

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. 

“What?” you ask. 

 “Nothin'—I didn’t expect I’d ever hear you say that.”

 You look at him pointedly. 

 “Gettin’ his dick wet,” he repeats. “I’m not used to hearing you say things like that s’all,” he says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head a little. 

You sigh. “Told you, heartbreak is a hell of a thing.” 

“You didn’t deserve that darlin’, M’sorry,” he soothes. He leans towards you, a heavy hand dropping to your bare thigh, fingers wrapping tightly around it. It takes everything in you not to squeeze your thighs shut at his touch. 

You avert your eyes, scanning the crowd in the bar, your eyes eventually landing on your friends all crammed in the booth before looking back at Joel. “Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” 

His head dips, eyebrows go up in surprise, his expression a slight mixture of shock and guilt. “You really believe that?” 

You flash him a soft smile. You’re not sure that you do, but selfishly, it’s easier than the truth, and whatever it was, you’re not concerned about it anymore. “It’s fine, Mr. Miller, honestly," you clarify. 

His calloused thumb rubs small circles on your thigh; heat radiates there. “How many times, I gotta tell you, it’s Joel,” he insists.

Your eyes roll, “alright. Joel, it’s fine. I’m much happier now.”

“Oh yeah?" His hand releases your thigh; your body feels like it’ll wilt without the heat of his touch. His arms cross over as he leans forward on the bartop. The cuff of his left sleeve raises, revealing ink curling around his wrist. Did he complete his sleeve? You swallow thickly, your eyes lingering. 

"Got yourself a new boyfriend?’” He asks. 

You finally peel your eyes away, arching your brow. “What makes you say that?” 

His boot brushes against your bare ankle as he turns towards you; electricity sparks up your leg and up the base of your spine, awakening a long-dormant need. “Nothin’, just reckon that a pretty thing like yourself has a new stupid college fella.”

You chuckle. “I don’t date, it's not worth my time anymore.” You take a swig of your drink, swallow the tang down, and it mixes with the lick of heat, slowly spreading its way into your veins. You’re trying to tame the surge of energy zipping through your body, but it’s so damn hot beneath the lights lining the bar. And the chatter buzzing around the room, coupled with the weight of Joel’s gaze, isn’t fucking helping. It’s overwhelming, the nerves and arousal taking over, lacing with the alcohol in your system.

“That so?” His voice is a low rumble, dangerous. The corners of his lips twitch; your eyes dart down to them. 

You set your glass down on the dark wood with a clink, and your fingers begin tracing the rim of the glass. “And you?” Your body is warm and humming, something churning deep in your core.

His hazel eyes slowly rake down your body, a hint of hunger in them as they pause at the hem of your skirt, barely covering the place where you need him most; your skin is on fire under the heat of his gaze, and for a moment you have to resist the urge not to pounce on him right there in a bar full of people.

His voice cuts through your reverie as he answers. “Not in the cards for me, darlin’,” his eyes crease before he tips the glass to his lips.

“Guess we got one thing in common,” you sigh and mirror him. 

His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip, and your chest blooms. Black takes up the hazel hues in his eyes, full of lust, and you think back to all the times you’ve had his attention; only now it’s worse because you can act on it. And maybe it’s the liquid courage in your blood. Maybe it’s some stroke of desire for revenge. Maybe it’s just that — desire. Maybe it’s because you know him. Know by all those times you racked up in your brain of longing stares and fleeting tugs of every nerve of your body.

So you think, with the very obvious throbbing in your core, with desire turning molten and pooling between your thighs that you can no longer ignore, that now is your chance; you’ve got nothing holding either of you back this time.

“You want to get out of here?” Your eyes fall down his body and bite your lip as you take in his broad form again. 

He chuckles darkly. “Can’t leave my crew, sweetheart,” he juts his chin towards an area behind you. Your body twists, and laughter threatens to bubble in your chest when you spot them. Three men, all silver-haired and scruffy beards that cover surly faces, all clad in tethered leather jackets, sit in a corner towards the back of the bar. 

You turn back to Joel with a hint of smirk on your lips. “Aren’t you getting a little old to still be biking around? Shouldn't fossils be encased or padded up or something? You know as they age they don't hold up very well,” you tease. 

He bares his teeth with a crooked grin; the corners of his eyes crease. “Careful, kiddo,” voice a low warning, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind it.

You knock back the rest of your drink swiftly, ignoring how it burns the back of your throat. “Well, that’s too bad,” you start. Driven by the alcohol coursing through your burning veins and the painful ache at the apex of your thighs, your left hand grabs his, rested beneath the bar, and guides it under your skirt and towards your dripping sex. He stiffens, inhaling sharply through his nose as he feels the way the wet fabric clings to the lips of your pussy. You bring your lips to the shell of his ear and drop your voice to make it more deep and velvety — more enticing. “She’s already wet.”

You drop his hand and hop off the barstool and onto wobbly legs, your right hand looping your crossbody over your shoulder, and before your leg even brushes past his, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist, dwarfing it in his grasp. 

Without another word, he tugs you behind him, past your table of friends, all too loud and too drunk celebrating the end of another work week to notice the two of you sauntering by. He drags you down the dimly lit hall, and you’re biting your bottom lip, containing the smile that threatens to spread across your face as he shoves you into the bathroom. 

Within seconds, he’s on you, pressing into you so your back slams into the tethered wooden door. Your hands find his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands streaked with gray.

And with his mouth flush with yours, the taste of whiskey and cheap cigars is warm on your tastebuds, and you cannot get enough of it. You've dreamt of what he'd taste like for so long, and it's everything you've ever wanted. His tongue is heavy and hot as he pushes it into your mouth, swirling it around and cutting across your gums, leaving no inch of your mouth uncharted. It’s all rushed and sloppy and hungry, and very quickly does it become clear to you that he’s wanted this — wanted you, just as much as you had from the very beginning. 

Somewhere in the heady haze, you manage to remove your left hand from his dark curls, drifting it south behind your back to slide the greasy lock shut behind you, sealing your fate. 

The sound of the lock clicking in place has Joel maneuvering you towards the sink, your heels scraping against the tile as the both of you drift backwards, tongues still intertwined. 

Your hands fumble with his belt, and at the same time, your mouth skates down his neck, tongue darting out and lapping at the inked skin there. You hum at the taste of warm, salty sweat. As you try to drag the leather out from his silver buckle, you move to drop to your knees. You don’t even get halfway before he’s reaching for your wrists, pulling you back up to stand. “‘S much as I’d like that kiddo, I've been waitin’ too long to get inside this cunt,” he says bluntly, and then he’s taking a step forward, trapping you against the cold ceramic. “If m’gonna come, s'gonna be inside o' her.” 

Your stomach flips at his words, and you can’t deny that the use of that word again makes you want to drop to your knees for him twofold. Instead, Joel drops to one of his, grunting as his denim-clad knee hits the cold tile, and it’s what he does next that manages to shatter all essence of confidence you had tonight.

Joel flicks up your skirt with one large hand while the other grips the back of one of your thighs, and one of your hands finds one of his shoulders, fingers already clinging onto him for dear life as you try to anchor yourself. You’re throbbing for him as his hand drifts north to cup your sex through your damp panties; he tears his gaze away to peer up at you. “How many dicks has this pussy taken since my son?” 

His words strike you hard, and your blood runs as cold as ice. Your breath kicks out of your lungs. That was the last thing you expected him to say. Despite the fact Joel’s eyes often lingered and his breath often wavered in your presence, he always managed to compose himself. You never imagined he'd act on those impulses.

“I–I don’t–” you blink a few times, your brain malfunctioning, trying to find the words. 

“How many,” he taunts, his fingers prod at your lace-covered slit, his thumb applying pressure to your clit through your underwear. 

“I– I don’t know. I can’t remember,” you whisper.

Joel sniggers. “I figured. She’s just a little pocket pussy for us, ain’t she?” A shiver runs up your spine, and he watches you, hazel eyes glimmering in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom, gauging your reaction for a tell, a tick, something, that’ll give him a reason to stop. When you don’t, his head dips down between your thighs, and his strong nose presses up against the damp stain on the front of your skimpy black thong, which was doing a rather poor job of covering your cunt. His eyes close slowly, and he inhales. Long and hard, so hard you can feel his nostrils contracting against you as he breathes in your scent. And it’s not your fault a measly whimper spills from your lips when he does so. 

“This all for me now?” He coaxes, his fingers strumming up and down your slit through the lace. Words fail you as you look down and find his eyes already on yours. You nod once for him. 

“Words, darlin’,” his voice dark, thick fingers shifting your panties aside, exposing you to the cold air and spreading your soft folds apart, toying with your wetness. 

Oh fuck, sneaks past your lips in a whisper, and one of your arms snaps out behind you, hand wrapping around the edge of the sink.  

He tilts his head up, and your eyes fixate on his middle finger that reads, clutch, as the tip pokes into your aching hole. "S’this what you wanted? You oughta ask for it, pretty girl.”

“I want you. Fuck– I want you to fuck me, Joel.” You choke out. 

“Attagirl,” he starts, knees cracking as he stands. “Bend over ‘n let me see her up close this time,” he says with a smirk. 

You obey, and turn to drop your purse beside the sink before placing your hands on the wet countertop. But your eyes don’t find your own reflection in the mirror. Instead, they fall on Joel’s movements behind you and gulp down the near-pathetic excitement and nerves sizzling over you. Joel’s too entranced by the sight before him to pick up how your breath hitches in your throat when his calloused hands push your skirt over the curve of your ass and up to your waist. His sly smirk kicks into a low chuckle as he catches sight of your tattoo on your left ass cheek that reads, daddy’s girl.

You go perfectly still, and a firm hand between your shoulders pushes you forward, your upper body now parallel to the dark countertop. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, but you can still hear the low whistle he sings from behind you. And then–

“Jesus,” he breathes as he pauses and marvels at you, his gaze shifting up and down your form, goosebumps erupting across your skin as the knuckle of his index finger traces down the small of your back, cold metal from the ring on his pinkie grazes the meat of your ass by happenstance. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” 

And it’s almost like he can’t believe he’s here — with you, thirty years his junior, and his son’s ex-girlfriend, in a bar bathroom, about to ruin not only you but every other woman for himself for the rest of his life.

The liquid courage must’ve kicked into overdrive because you don’t know what compels you to do it, but before you can stop yourself, you call out his name–

“Joel.”

His dark eyes flit upwards to meet yours in the mirror. 

“You gonna stand there and stare all night, or you gonna fill her up?” But the tone of your voice doesn’t make it sound at all like a question, and you don’t mean it to be. 

That seems to pull him back. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ Christ, I didn’t think you’d be this filthy.”

His reaction manages to bring back your confidence, and your lips curl in turn. 

Joel doesn’t waste anymore time. You feel the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and hear the metallic clang of his belt and the buzz of his zipper as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. When he hooks a thick finger underneath your panties, tugging them to the side and over one cheek, you can’t help but clench, and Joel definitely doesn’t miss it. 

He tuts. “Needy little thing too,” he grips his length, thick and heavy in his hand, and lines up the blunt cockhead with your throbbing hole; it winks at him. “Tiny hole’s begging for me to fuck her, ain’t she? Look at her flirtin’ with me,” Joel gloats. 

And the sane part of you wants to cringe at that, but your cunt betrays you and clenches around terrible emptiness again. Joel doesn’t wait for you to respond; his eyes flicker back down to your hole, pushing the wide head of his cock inside, and that spark from earlier ignites. 

“Oh, Christ,” he exhales, his jaw falling loose and eyes going hooded as he enters your warm, wet cunt. You gasp as your own eyes fall shut at the stretch, your face twisting upwards at the sharp sting. You didn’t get to look at it before, but you can feel him. He’s big. Bigger than anything you’ve ever had, and for a second you’re not quite sure he’ll be able to fit. But Joel being Joel means he’s a stubborn bastard. He makes it fit. He pushes himself in, in, in, and you whine, and he groans as your pussy wraps perfectly around every inch of his thick length, sinking in like a dream.

He bottoms out inside your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix, and you’re gripping the edge of the sink so tight that if it weren’t for Joel fucking you, you’d be worried if your knuckles would break the skin. “Fuck, that’s good,” he breathes, ragged and hard. 

And it is. He feels so good. Stretching your cunt out and carving a place for himself after all this time. All the wanting and pining. Shared glances and stolen moments that you believed to be over the moment you broke up with that bastard of a son have finally led you here with him. 

“Daddy,” pours from your lips involuntarily. Your eyes snap wide open, and you freeze. Joel draws his hips back, cock pulling out from your gaping hole and catching onto it’s head, and before you can scramble your brain for a pathetic excuse of an apology, his lips curl into a snarl, and he slams his hips forward, cock ramming into you full throttle. The force of his thrust so hard, your body jolts forward, and your pelvis collides with the sink.

He doesn’t give you time to recover; Joel sets a fast, unforgiving pace, and with every strong, expert roll of his hips, the edges of your vision begin to blur. And it doesn’t matter how fast he bucks into you; the size of his cock never fails to fill you up to the hilt on every long, punishing stroke. He’s fucking loving it. And so are you. Letting him use you and yanking you back onto his cock by the thin material of your thong, hips snapping back into his like a rubber band. The air quickly fills with delicious wet sounds of your skin slapping against his, your moans and his, and the sharp clink, clink, clink, of metal rattling against you as the movement of your bodies colliding increases. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he says, voice rough with arousal. “Been dreamin’ of this pussy since the first time I laid eyes on ya,” he pants, eyes never leaving where the two of you are connected.

Desperate whimpers and breathy moans spill from your lips, his left hand bruising on your hip. “Caught a glimpse of that pretty young pussy under your skirt. Couldn’t get it out of my damn head. I thought about you n’ fucked my fist every night to that image of you in your slutty little skirt. Too fuckin’ short to cover anything.” Your cunt drools with slick with every word that spills from him; you can feel it on the tops of your inner thighs. The wet suction of your cunt around his cock getting louder and louder and louder. It’s borderline pornographic. 

His voice cuts through the lewd sounds. “Some nights I heard those sweet sounds you made–fucked my fist then too. Were you fakin’ it, baby? Huh. Were you fakin’ it with him? My son ever fuck you this good?” He rambles, grip smarting your flesh. 

Your stomach jolts. Scratch that. That’s the last thing you expected him to say. If your ex-boyfriend’s father fucking you wasn’t going to send you spiraling, then him bringing up his own son while he fucks you dumb certainly will. 

Your mind is abuzz; your brain has gone completely blank. There’s no way you could form a proper word in response, even if you tried. There isn’t a single thought inside your head. It’s too much. Too many things are happening at once. For one, he’s never been this talkative; you were lucky if you got two sentences out of him a year ago. And now he’s asking you if his son fucks as good as he does. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. And he’s not expecting you to. All you can do is whimper and moan while he fucks you with abandon, the way you should have been fucked all those times by his son.

“You don’t gotta answer. I know he didn’t. That boy didn’t know what was good for him if it hit him til he was blue in the face.” And you moan in agreement, still not able to think of a response while his tip jabs at your most sensitive spot. 

“S’okay, you were made to take my cock,” he grits, his ringed finger digging into your skin by the unrelenting grip on your waist. “Made to take mine, not his. Tell me, my cock bigger than his?” 

“Daddy–” you gasp, your cunt flutters around him, and Joel laughs a little at you, a low mocking sound that fuels the fire roiling low in your belly. 

“Course it is,” he murmurs. “You were made for me. So fuckin’ pretty n’ perfect n’  – fuck – so goddamn tight. Tighter than a fleshlight, baby.” He hisses in between sharp thrusts.

“N-” you choke on your words, fresh tears pricking your eyes by the force of him fucking you so hard. 

He clicks his tongue. “You don’t like that, baby? You tellin’ me if I say it again, she won’t fuckin’ squeeze the hell outta me?”

Your cunt answers for you, giving him exactly what he wants and fluttering around him in response.

“S’okay, you can like it. You oughta. This sloppy cunt’s gonna be my new cocksleeve. Gonna blow my load in ya, pump you so full o’me.” 

You squeeze painfully tight around him again and bite your bottom lip to muffle the obscene, broken moan that escapes you. You can’t help but picture what Joel looks like thrusting himself into the toy. Was he using it that night? When you heard him coming with a groan of your name, was he pretending to paint your cunt instead of the inside of faux flesh? Or did he pull out and imagine covering your face in his cum? Your back arches as you push yourself up by the heels of your palms on the ceramic, your head topples back onto your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull, the walls of your cunt tensing at the thought. 

His fingers unhook themselves from your panties and his hand finds the back of your skull, and with a firm grip, he angles your head, so you are face to face with your own depraved reflection. “Look how fuckin’ sexy you look takin’ me,” he growls.

And you do; your vision refocuses on the wrecked girl in the mirror: hair wild yet pulled back by Joel’s tight fist, lipstick stained around your swollen lips, mascara smudged by wet tears at the corners of your eyes, temples glistening with beads of sweat as you’re split wide open, perfectly filled to the brim by your ex-boyfriend’s father’s cock. 

Joel’s fist tightens on your makeshift ponytail, pulling you back into him, and with your back now pressed flush to his chest, he brings his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, eyes watching each other in the mirror. “You’ve got a velvet cunt, kiddo, s’damn shame my son didn’t know what to do with it.” 

You squeak, your body jostling and rolling with pleasure on every shift forward, the edge of the countertop bruising your hip bones. You’re blissfully unaware of the spit drooling from your lips and dripping all over the sink faucet until Joel points it out.

“Look at you, wanted it so bad you’re fuckin’ droolin’ f’me, naughty girl,” he pants, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. “Wanted me to use you like this, huh?”

“Mmm,” you mewl in response, everything beneath your navel tenses while his cock grazes the opening of your cervix on each harsh thrust.

He tuts. “Aww, poor baby, you were all talk before. But you can’t talk back now, huh? You all cock dumb, s’that it? Daddy, fuckin’ ya stupid?” 

"So – good – Daddy,” you force a choked moan. Your cunt clamps down around him, and it burns, flames running wild, scratching away at your nerves as the fat head of his cock brushes against your g-spot again. As if he can feel it too, the snap of his hips grows more desperate. Faster. Harder. Deeper. 

“Keep doin’ that, doin’ so good for me, kiddo. Just a little more, give it to me, come on daddy’s cock, c’mon,” he rasps. Your stomach twists and your chest tightens, his cock hitting you so deep each time his hips swing, and the weight of his balls slapping wetly against your clit has you hurtling full speed towards your release. 

“Daddy – oh f– fuck,” your voice all broken and hoarse. Your entire body goes painfully tight, thighs quivering, and something deep within you snaps. Your eyes screw shut as the energy thrums through your blood. Your mind is a dizzying blur, white light streaking behind your eyelids, and there’s a low ringing in your ears as your orgasm fully engulfs you. 

"Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, kiddo, there you go, let her soak me,” Joel praises as he fucks you through your high, cunt throbbing while your hips move lazily back and forth on him. 

As your orgasm settles, your body goes limp, and your head begins to dip, but Joel tightens his grip on you, shifting your body like a ragdoll until you’re on your tiptoes, the perfect angle for him as he fucks relentlessly into you. 

And with the blissed-out daze of the afterglow and the roaring music from the otherside of the bathroom door getting louder, you can just barely make out Joel’s low rambles of obscenities — almost like he’s mumbling to himself — and the quick, wet, smack, smack, smack of his hips against the plush of your ass as he pummels your cunt, desperate for release — as if his life depends on coming inside you. 

He grunts and through bleary eyes, you watch him through the mirror. He looks wrecked as he chases after his high. He must feel your eyes on him because then his eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and your cunt squeezes him unconsciously. That sends him overboard. His movements become sloppy, and you feel him twitch inside you. His jaw slackens, his eyes pinching shut while his head lulls back, and a breathless chant of, oh shit, fuck that’s it, fuck, escapes him as he comes undone.

His hands clamp, hips finally stuttering, a deep groan slipping past his lips, and then you feel the heat spreading inside you as thick spurts of his seed spill deep inside your cunt. His body falls forward over yours, his sweaty forehead falls into your shoulders, and you let him stay there as his cock continues to pulse, hips lazily rutting into you and pumping you full of his load. Your spent cunt spasms around his throbbing cock, and your wet and his, gathers at the base of his girth and trickles down his balls. 

His hips finally come to a stop, but he doesn’t pull out. Instead, his hand drops from your hair and begins rummaging through your purse. It only takes him a few seconds to find what he’s looking for. Your pen. You watch through watery lashes as he pops the cap with his thumb and brings the tip to the small of your back; your body flinches at the feeling of the cold tip. 

As the ball of the pen drags and tugs across at your skin, for a brief moment you try to surmise what he’s writing, but it takes him too long, and the intensity of your orgasm finally catches up with you. You drop your head on your hand and wait for him to finish whatever the hell he’s drawing on your skin. 

You feel his body shift behind you again, but it’s not until you hear the familiar sound of a low click that has you snapping your head up to the mirror. 

Joel Miller has his phone in his hands. 

And he’s not just doing anything with it. He’s not scrolling through it. He’s not opening up the contacts app. He’s not typing on it.

You catch a bright white flash in the mirror. He’s taking pictures of you. But not just of you. He’s taking pictures of your wasted cunt still plugged full of his cock. 

And for some reason — you don’t move. You don’t stop him. You don’t turn around and snatch the phone from his grasp and call him a dirty old dog. You stay perfectly still, and you let him do what he wants. Letting him take a series of pictures.

But it’s the last few that have his lips curling into a smirk, and he begins mumbling under his breath, gawking at the mess he made of you. 

With his phone poised in his right hand, his left drops to your left ass cheek, his fingers splay across your flesh, pulling your cheek back, and the shutter sound goes off. "Fuck, she’s so pretty like this.” 

Heat blooms in your chest. No one’s ever made you feel like this. But there’s no room for shame when he makes you feel this warm and beautiful... and so fucking sexy. 

And then it hits you. 

No one’s ever made you feel like this. There’s a sudden pang in your heart, tears stinging in your eyes. You’ve always known it. But you never admitted it because it never mattered. How could it? When you’ve never had someone who made you feel worth their time. How could you know what you were missing out on if you’ve never had it to begin with? 

Your head tips back between your shoulders, forcing the tears back into your skull, and to keep them at bay, you redirect your attention on Joel; watch him as he presses his hips flush to your ass so he’s filled you to the hilt. With your body still trembling, you wince and close your eyes in overstimulation. Your body sags forward on the cold surface, melting into submission.

You hear a series of shutters coupled with Joel’s mutters of, Jesus, look at her, the prettiest little pussy, look at this messy little hole swallowin’ up my cock, while you feel his hand moving along the small of your back, no doubt getting different angles of the place where the two of you become one. 

It feels like hours have passed by when Joel seems to have gotten his fill. One of his hands finds your hip again; you shiver and gasp in unison as he slowly slips himself out with a wet squelch. He pumped you so full of his release that you already feel it beginning to trickle out. You didn’t think there’d be that much of it for a man his age.

When his cockhead fully slides out from your hole, you have to fight the urge to whine at the loss of it — of him. But it’s what he does next that stops you from reveling in that; his hand quickly reaches down between your bodies, and two thick fingers catch the cum dripping out of you and push it back inside. You whimper tiredly. 

You stay bent over the sink, and suddenly, for a very brief moment, you feel the heavy weight of his cock slap wetly against your left ass cheek, and for the last time, the camera shutters. 

He quickly pockets his phone, and then he’s pulling your panties over the ache between your thighs, and his hands tentatively pull the skirt back down over your ass, smoothing out the rumpled fabric. You can hear the low rustling behind you — the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle, tucking himself back into his pants.

And then Joel Miller surprises you again. He leans forward over you and places a chaste kiss to your clothed shoulder before his hands are on you, gently tugging your body upright and turning you around to face him as he murmurs a low, Let me look at ya. 

His eyes scan over your face, grinning immensely, like he can’t help being proud of himself for ruining you. And you smile bashfully in tandem as you bring a weak hand up to your face. Joel shoos your hand away and rubs his thumb under your eyes, gently wiping away your tears and smeared mascara, then doing the same to the smudged lipstick at the corners of your mouth. 

He’s always been rather soft with you, but it’s a stark contrast in comparison to his earlier behavior; it almost gives you whiplash thinking about it. How he fucked you so full you could feel him in your chest, the stream of profanities he cursed under his breath, moaning the dirtiest things  — comparing himself to his son while inside you, taking filthy pictures as evidence of what the two of you have done together, then cleaning you up like it’s second nature to him. All of it was filthy. He’s filthy. But there was always a softness to him, and there’s no doubt about it in this moment.

You take the opportunity to mirror him and caress away the lipstick that stained his lips from your kiss, you smile and he sighs at the contact. His thumb swiftly pads over your bottom lip, his gaze lands on your lips, a sort of hesitance, perhaps deciding if he wants to kiss you again. Then, his thumb catches on your plush bottom lip. Joel’s lips twitch, his eyes go dark as he drags the flesh of your bottom lip down, eyeing something he knows he almost missed. He scoffs slightly and shakes his head in near-disbelief. You smirk knowing exactly what he’s reacting to. 

His entire face blossoms with cherry red as he does another once over on the black ink inside your mouth. 

“Angel, my ass,” he mutters under his breath before wetting his lips. Already hungry for more. 

He tilts your chin upwards and leans forward to kiss you. It’s softer, slower this time, but of course, he still nips gently at your bottom lip, and at the same time, he slips his free hand down between the two of you once more. It moves beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers shoving your panties to the side, the pulp of his middle finger pushing through your puffy folds and into your dripping hole, until the black ink that reads, brake, is entirely sheathed inside your worn cunt, making sure his come stays where it belongs. You whimper against his lips, bucking into his hand.

“Keep that in there, f’me,” he mutters, his hot breath fanning over your lips. “Want you thinkin’ o’me when it drips outta ya tonight.” 

You whine faintly when Joel removes his hand. He brings it up to his face, and his tongue darts out to glide across the tip of his digit, licking his finger clean of your wet and his, all while keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. 

There’s a long beat of silence between you, and then he drops his hand, pulling away. Your heart falls, already missing the warmth emanating from his touch.

“We oughta get back before people start looking for us,” he murmurs as he steps back. You smile softly and nod. You’re not sure you’ll see him again. And you don’t have the heart to ask him, nor do you have the strength to handle it if he rejects your offer. You have nothing else to give. 

You love how he made you feel, but your chest twinges — one that twists deep. And no matter how much you try to quell that deep-seated fear, it never truly leaves you. A little voice in the back of your mind that repeats on a loop like a broken record, telling you: He’ll break your heart. They all do. But he can’t hurt you if you don’t let him. You resist the urge to turn and run. And instead, you turn to glance back in the mirror, sure to tame your disheveled appearance, giving Joel a chance to leave before you, slipping back into someone from your past.

He makes his way to the door, sliding the lock open; his hand curls around the handle but pauses before pulling it open. He turns to face you. “You okay?” he asks. 

It shocks you. It’s more than his son ever did. Certainly means more to you after he’d ask, Was it good, after coming in you before you even got started. Everything Joel did tonight is more than his son ever did; asking you questions all night and listening attentively while you answered them — whether it was with the hope of fucking you or not — doesn't matter. You fought tooth and nail for a sliver of his son’s attention, but with Joel, he just fucking gave it to you. 

You do your best to ignore that gnawing feeling of fear, clawing its way up your chest by the only way you know how; you press your lips to Joel’s, pushing your tongue into his awaiting mouth, and licking along the rim of his teeth. A strong hand curls around your jaw, fighting for dominance over the kiss, but you don’t let him for long, though. Reluctantly, you pry yourself off him, but not before Joel’s teeth softly graze your earlobe, nipping the flesh there.

You flash him a quick smile, looping the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “Perfect.” 

He smiles softly at that, eyes dancing across your face. “Yeah,” he whispers and moves to the side, letting you step out first and following you out. 

You head straight to the booth where your group of four awaits you, but not before peering over your shoulder and seeing Joel stalk towards his crew. You smile to yourself and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear as you approach your friends. As you shimmy in beside one of them, they ask where you were, and their brows pinch when you mumble, I was feeling a little dizzy. Which isn’t a total lie, but no one presses you for more, and you’re glad they don’t. 

It’s not until your friends start collecting their belongings and announce they want to check out the new bar a few blocks down the street when you feel the weight of tonight’s actions sinking into you. You’re about ready to call it a night; your eyes are heavy, your brain is still fuzzy, and your body still has not recovered from Joel railing you. 

You mull over sitting in the booth until the car you plan to order shows up to take you home. But the thought of waiting around in Joel’s presence makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to find out if he’ll be like the rest of them. Something to scratch an itch, and then wiping you from memory. That urge to flee loops back, and your legs force you to stand.

Collectively, you amble through the bar, still bubbling with energy, and as you make your way to the exit, you can feel the heat of a stare on you. You don’t need to turn to know who it is; his broad form ghosts along the edges of your periphery.

You walk against that pull you feel towards him, ache festering, skin burning, and bones grating with every heavy step, your eyes locked on the door like a missile to a target, not letting your eyes wander over to his booth, trying to keep what’s left of your dignity. Resisting. Resisting. Resisting. 

Lucas steps out first, holding the door open for another group of younger twenty-somethings as they saunter into the bar. While you hang back, you quickly mumble over your shoulder to Nell that you’re thinking of heading home. Worry cuts across her face, and she extends an offer, At least let me drive you home, hun. 

Your answer is cut off by the chime of your phone in your purse. You still and fumble for it and see a message from Mr. Miller. You had forgotten you never deleted his number. 

Holding your phone close to your chest, cautiously away from your friend’s curious eyes, you click on the notification.

He’d sent you two of the pictures he happily took at the top of the hour with a message that reads, Look damn sexy on my cock, kiddo. 

Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and pride swells in your chest as you glance at the first picture: Joel plugging your used cunt full of his length, his graying pubic hairs drenched and the base of his shaft gleaming with a white ring of creamy release. Your eyes flit upwards, and you finally get a chance to read the dark permanent lines he’d written on your skin.

Joel had crossed out the latter half of your tattoo on your ass cheek. It now reads, daddy’s fleshlight, in sloppy penmanship. With his grip porcelain white, the cross on his thumb makes an appearance as his digit digs into your hip at the corner of your tattoo. Your eyes drift further north, and above the globe of your ass, the small of your back reads, mine. 

Your thumb swipes across the screen to the second picture. With his cock poised in his hand, he had pressed the swollen mushroom head, only a hairsbreadth beneath the ink on the plush flesh of your ass — black ink shiny with a pearly film, he had smeared it in your mixed juices. Your cunt clenches at the images — at his absence, missing the warm, thick stretch of him. And suddenly, you feel his cum beginning to dribble out of you and pool into the gusset of your already ruined thong. 

When you don’t answer. The message bubble appears.

A beat, then two, and then—

There’s a place for you here.

You swallow down the twinge, the ache, press your thighs shut around emptiness, and feel another slight trickle escape your lower lips when your pussy releases more of his cum. You lock your phone and look back up at Nell in front of you. You feign nonchalance and wave her off, telling her you can’t go home just yet. Tell her that you received a few more requests from your boss and you, Don’t wanna take work home. 

She asks how you’ll get home, you lie, and swiftly mention that you just saw Mr. Miller across the bar and that he’ll drive you home. Another tiny white lie. Your place is a solid halfway point from the bar to his house. And when she asks if you’re sure you’ll be okay alone, her hand gently squeezing your arm, brows furrowed with worry, bless her heart, your gaze follows that pull like a magnet and lands on Joel. 

He’s already watching you. 

Your eyes lock with his, one hand resting to the side while the other tips the glass he’d been nursing towards you, winking as he takes a short sip of amber liquid. 

And there’s no pang in your chest. No urge to flee. Just the warmth of his gaze that in any second now will radiate through his touch, turning your bones to ash. 

You flash Nell a smile. Yeah…You’ll be fine.